


Pete's Dragon (Rewritten)

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 10:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Oliver Wood finds his Keeper.





	Pete's Dragon (Rewritten)

Back up. She was the daughter of Catriona Julianne McCormack and Peter McCormack, and they had placed her on the reserve team. Meaghan couldn’t say she was completely surprised by this move. Perhaps they all started out on the reserve team, but she was more than this. Meghan tied her blonde hair back into a ponytail and did cartwheels to keep her mind from going stir crazy. 

Her mother, Catriona, had played for twelve years or thirteen years. The reason this was thrown into question was because her mother had taken time off when her son, Kirley, was born, and sometime later, he'd caught a bout of something or other and she’d taken another leave of absence. If she were being completely honest with herself here, it was Meaghan’s and her twin sister, Miranda’s, fault Catriona had finally left the Pride of Portree behind. Meaghan didn't take responsibility for this, yet it factored into the equation somehow. 

Peter, who had played Keeper, had stayed on for twenty-one years, which had been quite an accomplishment in itself. He’d been known as the Dragon later in his career. Nobody, except for the best of the best, stayed around playing Quidditch until their mid-forties; he left at forty- five. Her dad had crafted a signature move involving a secret save, Peter's Pendulum. Meaghan switched from cartwheels to military-style pushups. 

“I know who you are.” A built, burly young man zoned in, placing his face inches from Meaghan’s. He leaned in, positively beaming with happiness. Meaghan went back to her exercises and changed to sit-ups. He held her feet. “You’re Meaghan Stirling McCormack, the daughter of Catriona and Peter. You’re named after Stirling Dempsey, Beater for the Prides. He’s your dad’s best mate. You’re five minutes older than your sister, Miranda, who doesn’t play Quidditch. For some odd reason. Because it seems to you’d be bred for the sport.” 

“What?” Meaghan sighed when she came back up and counted in her head. 

“But that’s okay. Imagine the diversionary tactics, though, eh? I used to play with a set of identical twins. The Weasley twins.” The man offered his hand when Meaghan sat up again. “I’m Wood, by the way, Oliver Wood. Trying out for Keeper for the Prides. You?” 

“Cute. Step aside, boy. The Keeper spot is mine.” Meaghan blocked him out and didn’t touch his hand. She jerked her head towards the registration tables. “The Wasps, or the Arrows, or the Cannons. Yeah.” 

“Nope.” Oliver grinned at her. “You’re the competition."

“Right. Let me break this down for you, Wood,” said Meaghan, getting to her feet. 

She wore a purple Pride of Portree t-shirt and shorts. She helped herself to a bottle of water and give the house-elf on the sidelines a high-five. She nodded toward the judges’ box, the Top Box, and nodded at a burly black man, third to the left, guessing as Oliver Wood had just told Meaghan her own life story, he was a diehard Quidditch fanatic. 

“Who’s that?” Meaghan jabbed her finger at the black man. 

“Stirling Dempsey, head coach of the Prides, replaced longtime coach Francis Ferguson.” Oliver made a face and frowned at her. “What’re you playing at?” 

“Miranda Francine McCormack? Meaghan Stirling McCormack? That man brought my sister and me into this world. Literally was the first one to hold me in his arms.” Meaghan grinned at Wood and looped her arm through his as they circled the practice pitch. 

“Stirling Dempsey, eh?” Wood stopped in front of the Top Box. “That’ll be one hell of a story to tell your kids. QuickSilver delivered you.” 

Meaghan laughed at the pained expression on his face as she started to walk away. Her name got announced over the megaphone.. “Are you jealous?” 

“Yea…no. You’re jealous, Miss McCormack. Hey,” said Wood, grabbed her arm as the amplified voice said, ‘McCormack, Meaghan’ again. Meaghan grabbed her broomstick. “Any chance your, like, your sister? Or this is an off day?” 

“Yeah. Let’s go with that, shall we?” 

Meaghan smiled at him, kicked off the ground and zoomed towards the opposite side of the pitch. She knew these people, some of them. They were a mixture of professional Quidditch players. Chasers, three of them, fired three different Quaffles at her, or there might have been more; these were simply red blurs, and they came at lightning speed. She blocked shot after shot and counted off the seconds off the clock. Phase One lasted five minutes. 

When the alarm sounded, Meaghan opened her hand to the middle Chaser, the Striker, and taunted her with a flick of her wrist. 

“Seriously? You are Cat’s daughter, eh?” She caught the Quaffle and signaled to the referee to start the clock. “Come on.” 

The Quaffle hailstorm started again and she lasted another three minutes. Eight. Drenched in sweat, she smiled at the lead Chaser, who actually came over and clapped her on the back. When she got back on the ground, she used her already soaked t-shirt to wipe her face and went to wait by the scoreboard. The numbers flashed in a minute. 

“118: 2.” Oliver Wood came over and gawked at the figures. On another board, a roster, Meaghan shot to the top. She wasn't listed amongst the reserves; Meaghan ranked with the professionals. “You missed two? Two? Damn. I’m … damn.” 

Meaghan waited on baited breath, for she knew they were recalculating in the Top Box. Three minutes later, her slot flashed, erased itself, and reappeared in the same spot in a sharper, bolder font. Meaghan, turned towards the Top Box, and Stirling Dempsey, completely mad, jumped up and down. There was a scuffle as Stirling tested the magical megaphone. 

“Meaghan McCormack, age 19, Keeper of Pride of Portree.” Stirling stopped and bent his ear towards someone. “No reserves. Fast track. Well done, baby girl.” 

Meaghan bowed low towards the Top Box before she broke into a dance. She danced badly, but she didn't give a damn. People watching in the stands laughed and cheered or booed, though she didn’t care about the nay sayers. Oliver Wood hugged her and jumped around with her for a few minutes. As they came back down to earth and she turned to wish him luck, he kissed her! 

"Welcome to the league, Wood, because it's a whole new game." 

“Yeah. Well, job well done. Guess I’ve got a shot in the reserve team, eh?” Wood patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and putting distance between them. “If I’m not on the Prides, I’m going to destroy you.” 

“I look forward to it, Oliver.” She spotted her father coming down the stands and bolted towards him. His hair, once thick, blonde curls had lost some of its luster. “Daddy!” 

“Meaghan, that’s my girl.” Peter took her into his arms and ignored the flashing cameras and their reporters that inevitably swarmed in with the Quidditch draft. He held her close and whispered in her ear. “Stirling nearly asked you to do the run again. That … that was extraordinary flying and handwork. You missed two.” 

“Seriously, Peter McCormack?” She accepted his arm and headed back up the stands. She sandwiched herself between her father and her brother, Kirley. Kirley wore jeans over a plain t-shirt and had tied his hair back. Meaghan helped herself to a bite of Kirley’s sandwich and handed it back as she licked mayo off her finger. “Mustard saves lives, brother. Where you been?” 

“Is it good?” Kirley, drummer of the Weird Sisters, had been about to take a bite before she’d snatched it from him. He reeled off places: Copenhagen, London, Saint Petersburg, Minsk, Galway, Amsterdam. 

“Uh huh.” She laughed at Peter’s shocked expression. Kirley offered his knuckles and they fist bumped. Kirley surrendered the sandwich, saying she deserved it. “Sneaking food into the stadium. What’s wrong with you? What’s this?” 

“Sriracha mayo. It’s good, right?” Kirley nodded when she tucked in and draped arm over her shoulder, unconsciously drumming with his free hand on the chair in front of him. A wizened wizard turned on him, brandishing his wand at him threateningly, asking him to do a drumroll one more time. Kirley raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Nah, I’m good, mate.” 

“Kirley, take your hands and sit on them.” Peter leaned over Meaghan and stared him down. “Now.” 

“Right, Dad. Fucking humiliating.” Kirley grumbled when Peter went to use the loo after he’d magically tied Kirley’s arms behind his back. Peter wasn't Kirley’s biological father, yet he’d been with Meaghan’s brother since before he was born; Kirley’s father had died in a Muggle military operation. “I’m telling Mummy Dad’s mean. Free me.” 

“Awwww, poor prince,” said Meaghan, patting him on the cheek after she tossed her trash into a nearby bin. “I’m going to chat with Stirling.” 

 

“Chat with Stirling. Yeah, sure why not? I’ll lose circulation. This?” Kirley hissed at her as Meaghan started down the aisle. He spotted Stirling in the distance. “This is exactly why Miranda is the better little sister. Meaghan who?" 

Meaghan kept an eye out for certain people in the draft, knowing they did the same for her. A lot of people, the majority, didn't qualify and got cut. Quidditch qualification rounds were no joke, as cutthroat as they came, and people had to have thick skin. They had to. She hit the changing rooms and hit the showers. Miranda, who worked at a design studio called Designs by Duval, a fashion foreground that supplied Gladrags Wizardwear. As an advertisement scrolled itself across a large billboard for Gladrags Wizardwear, (London, Paris, Hogmeade), Meaghan thought of her better half somewhere in France. 

She wished Miranda were here because she was the first person she'd wanted to share this news with. Whilst Meaghan had taken a year off for the now dead wizard's trip around the world, the Grand Tour, Miranda had worked on her portfolio and earned an internship under her belt. Instead of a random bloke called Oliver Wood, she would have done the victory dance with Miranda, and their father would've gotten a laugh. Really, although Meaghan wouldn't admit it, she'd spent part of her year traipsing around as a Weird Sisters roadie. 

She met Oliver in the changing rooms after she took a shower and stuffed her clothes into a rucksack. He said she wasn't half bad. Although the Pride of Portree had been one of his first picks, he truly wasn't that fussed, and got picked up by the reserve team for Puddlemere United. 

"Oooh, fancy. I don't know whether to congratulate you or console you," said Meaghan, braiding her hair with quick fingers. 

"Yeah, yeah, we're rivals now." Oliver sat there in his sweaty clothes and caught the water bottle she tossed at him. 

Meaghan expected him to complain that she'd gotten in by an easy ride, seeing as she was the daughter of Catriona and Peter. She caught a lot of that. Whilst they were in school, Peter had downright insisted she and Miranda not tryout for the school Quidditch team because they were stronger than most people. Miranda, food as she might be, had enjoyed her sketchpad more. 

"Never seen anyone jump right into the league," said Oliver. 

"My dad did." 

"Course. Peter McCormack." Oliver drank his water and chucked the empty bottle into the bin. He washed up and came back out in Muggle clothes. "What was that like? Growing up as the daughter of Little Cat and the Dragon?" 

Meaghan laughed. They'd been wealthy, so there was no denying it. They didn't live in a sprawling estate or have a manor, but they had a house-elf and more than they needed. They had a summer cottage in the Highlands. After she had retired, seven months into her pregnancy with Meaghan and Miranda, Catriona left the public world for a couple years to raise the girls, but she eventually qualified as a medi-wizard, a Healer specialized in sports injury healing. Peter predictably joined the Department of Magical Games and Sports after he left the league, For all intents and purposes, Meaghan had a regular childhood. 

"I shared a bedroom for seventeen years," she said, struggling to think of interesting stuff. "We had a dog called Colby, though he died of bone cancer, and Dad cried like a baby when they put him down. An Australian Shepherd. We have two of Colby's puppies. Loch and Luke." 

"Hmmmm." 

Oliver stood up and held out a hand for her rucksack after he packed his own. He revealed that he was an only child, the son of a potioneer and an advertising agent. When Meaghan invited him to supper, he seemed mildly surprised and stopped reeling off Quidditch facts after a while. Of course, Meaghan had to remind him that Catriona McCormack, who played for Pride of Portree and Scotland for thirty-six times, did give birth to her. 

"Check this out. I'm literate, so I've read Quidditch Through the Ages, too." Meaghan tossed him the rucksack and grinned from ear to ear as they left. Unable to help himself, Wood shouted at her, asking why the great Dragon wasn't listed in the book. He mentioned that the text, thanks to a charm Kennilworthy placed on it, updated itself instead of releasing new editions. 

 

 

"Mama. I'm home." Meghan dropped her rucksack on the stairs and waved at Wonky the house-elf. She jerked her head at Oliver, telling him to come in. 

"Lovely to see you again, Miss Meaghan," said Wonky. 

"Hey, Wonky. Where's Mama? Mama!" 

Meaghan ran into the large modernized kitchen as the house-elf answered. Her mother stood at the counter supervising the slicing and dicing of spring vegetables. Although Catriona neared fifty, she held onto her beauty and kept her hair a rich brunette. Since the end of her Quidditch days, Catriona still kept to her workout routine, though she moved slower and had more wrinkles. 

Peter and Kirley sat at the island. 

"You answer me when I'm bellowing, woman," said Meaghan jokingly. Catriona raised her eyebrows and said nothing. 

"Totally doesn't know you're yanking her wand," said Kirley, chortling. He set down a beer and conjured one for Oliver as they exchanged introductions. "She's going to tan your hide, Meaghan." 

"I'm grown." She quelled at Catriona's sharp look and walked over to hug her from behind, reverting back to a child. "Still your favorite little girl, Mummy?" 

"Nope. Fortunately you came with a spare, Thing One." Catriona handed her the wooden spoon and turned her head when the fireplace flashed and Miranda beamed at them. "Speak of the devil. Hey, baby."

"Thing Two! How is you? Meghan dropped to the floor as Peter and Kirley chorused, "Miranda!" 

"Hey, family. What news?" Miranda turned to Meaghan. "So?" 

"Well, I didn't make the reserve team," said Meaghan, feigning disappointment. Both Catriona and Miranda groaned; Miranda's head rolled its eyes. Meaghan paused for effect. "Because I made the team!" 

"Shut the hell up." Catriona switched off the burner and started jumping around the kitchen excitedly with Meaghan. Miranda inhaled ash and pulled her head out of the fireplace. Peter dodged the dishtowel the after second time Catriona whacked him round the head with it. The dogs and the house-elf had joined them. "When were you going to tell me this, Peter?" 

Peter shrugged, bemused. 

"Okay, I'm back. Sorry. Roommate needed rent. Oh, my God. Seriously?" Miranda beamed at Meaghan. "Oh, my God, did Stirling cry?" 

"Nearly," shouted Peter. "You were his first pick, Meaghan. Hey, Mire? What's this I hear about a French boyfriend?" 

"What the ...?" Kirley spun round and cracked his knuckles menacingly. "You tell wee Frenchman I've got a show in Paris next week. Let's do food." 

"With a dash of poison," added Peter, laughing maniacally as he rubbed his hands together like a villain. He snorted when Oliver spat beer everywhere. 

"Simmer, big brother, simmer. Merlin, Kirley." Catriona turned back to dinner, but Wonky had taken over. Kirley had six years on the girls. Kirley told Miranda about the gig at nine next Saturday in Paris. 

"It's a date. So, who's getting tickets for the World Cup?" Miranda turned her head expectantly towards Peter, for she already had her answer. "Dad?" 

"Yeah, yeah," said Peter, counting on his fingers as he did a headcount. "Us and Stirling. Six? Last call, folks." 

Nobody said anything, so Peter made a note. Miranda asked about Scotland's chances, and whilst Peter sounded optimistic, Catriona shook her head and complained about injuries. Her father was the former athletic trainer for Manchester United, and whilst football wasn't Quidditch by any stretch of the imagination, Catriona knew her stuff. Even with proper healing, the same injury did nothing without proper rest. 

"I gotta go," said Miranda, checking behind herself. "Bye. Bye, Thing One." 

"Bye, Thing Two, I love you. Ooooh, Floo me tomorrow night. We have things to discuss." Meaghan waved Peter down when he asked what. 

"Yesssss," said Miranda, drawing it out, who admitted she'd forgotten. "Bye." 

She broke the connection. Meaghan got to her feet and went to help her mother with food. Peter said they had better not be planning anything for their twentieth wedding anniversary because he put his foot down right then and there on this secrecy nonsense. Kirley gave a noncommittal shrug. Catriona said it was really nothing. 

"It's another day," said Catriona. "Nothing special. Oliver, hello. That's my father's name. Sit. Eat." 

"You're Catriona McCormack," said Oliver, slightly star-struck. 

He took a roll and held the salad bowl like it was the Holy Grail. Kirley laughed so hard Catriona made him leave the room. As Catriona drank a vial and set it aside, Kirley , still laughing himself silly, fell going up the stairs after he piled his plate high with food. Wonky followed him. 

"Last time I checked." Catriona poured Peter some wine and waited patiently and politely for Oliver Wood to get through her Quidditch stats. He switched to Peter, and at this point, Meaghan found it wearing. "Oliver? Oliver?" 

"....and the Peter's Pendulum thing? They should really update that in Quidditch Through the Ages. You have to show me that, Mr. McCormack," rattled Oliver Wood, stealing Kirley's seat. 

"Oliver? Quidditch isn't everything," said Catriona. She speared her vegetables with a fork and set her plate aside. 

Oliver gave a mirthless laugh and gestured around the pristine kitchen. It was state-of-the-art stuff. A second oven mounted in the wall opened its door and cleaned itself. And a stand mixer poured brownie batter into a floured pan and baked itself in midair. Peter nodded, agreeing with Catriona, but he held his tongue for the moment. 

"You don't mean that," said Oliver finally. "Why would you ever give that up?" 

"Three reasons. Four." She nodded at Meaghan as Wonky came back and cleared the table. Oliver said she copped out. Peter said he didn't get it, and that was all right, for he wasn't there in his life yet. Catriona pointed at Meaghan when Oliver claimed she dropped the Quaffle when she could have gotten Ferguson a third League championship. "Well, things changed. I got married, I had kids, and things ... there are more important things in life." 

 

Peter took Oliver and Meaghan outside. They owned private land in the back, some twenty acres in the back. The dogs followed Peter after he fed them. Meaghan watched as her dad held two leashes in one hand and carried a chest under the other. Peter looked as though he might break his neck because the Australian Shepherds were made for speed; they were hardworking, dedicated, loyal beasts, and they could drag for father everywhere if they had the mind. 

"Loch, Luke, mind the boundaries. Off with you." Peter released them and hung the leashes on the shed door. 

Oliver grinned at him when Peter offered him Catriona's broomstick for practice. "You treat your dogs like people." 

"The furry children are just as important as the human ones. They're intelligent beasts." Peter released the Quaffle and locked the chest before he kicked off the ground. When he suggested they do suicides, sprints, Oliver groaned, but he raced with Meaghan, which was a feat, for Oliver had had a longer afternoon than Meaghan. "Are we done Mr. Wood?" 

"No, no," said Oliver, turning on his heel and chasing after Meaghan. Peter joined them. After about ten minutes, Oliver got winded and touched his fingertips to the grass. "Aye, this is murder. I'm getting my ass kicked by fifty-year-old man. How is this even possible?" 

Meaghan laughed, shaking her head. She used to go running with her father regularly at night around the neighborhood. It counted as father/daughter time, though Peter rarely spoke. She outstripped Oliver until he caught up. They ran until Peter stopped. 

"Old, retired man, my left foot." Oliver straightened up and asked why they didn't do diversionary tactics or something. This was Quidditch, not track and field, though she was surprised he knew about running sports because Oliver didn't know what a basketball was. Peter showed him his signature move, Peter's Pendulum, when they got back in the air. Basically, Meaghan's father went back and forth, swinging back on the broomstick like monkey bars if the Quaffle went back the other way. Oliver sat on the broom, studied his every move. "Show me again." 

Peter obliged. 

"That is some mad ape shit," said Oliver. He marveled at Peter's upper body strength and agility. "Okay. I get why Mrs. McCormack left the pitch. But you?" 

"I'm fifty-three," said Peter, dismounting his broom and whistling for the dogs. Loch and Luke zoomed to his side as if ordered there by a Summoning Charm. He carried his broom and Quidditch chest into the shed. "I don't know. It was time to go, and forty-five sounded good. I won't get retirement from the Ministry, but we're comfortable." 

"Yeah, but why did you leave?" demanded Oliver, putting Catriona's broom away. He asked again, persistent and annoyed, when they entered the kitchen. 

"It's personal," said Meaghan, thinking if Oliver was a cutthroat fanatic, he'd go blabbing. She spotted a large knife and droplets of blood on the usually clean floor. "Mama?" 

"I'm fine," said Catriona, cradling her hand with a stained dishtowel. 

"What's wrong?" Oliver acted puzzled. 

"No, I'll tell him," said Catriona, downing another vial of potion and tossing it in the wastebasket. Meaghan guessed their voices carried from outside. Peter waved his wand and caught a pill dispenser before he handed his wife two tablets. "Blood Replenishing Potion. Tastes like iron." 

"You're ill?" Oliver sounded disappointed. 

"Eight years ago, I fell backwards in the shower and split my head open. They couldn't stop the bleeding. I don't know it at the time, but I was pregnant. Suffered when a previous injury or something ripped right open ...bled internally." Catriona asked if Oliver knew what that was. He said yes; it meant some healer, not a properly qualified one, performed some shoddy spellwork. She nodded, saying there was a difference in a medi-wizard and a professional Healer, and took the tablets without water. And this was her own profession, so she wasn't talking it down, though the facts were the facts. "I nearly died, and the medi-wizard panicked when he couldn't find his supervisor . He messed up. Long story short, I no longer have proper platelets in my bloodstream." 

"So you can bleed to death," guessed Oliver, taking a seat at the island again. 

"Quite easily. Drink, Cat," said Peter, helping his wife over to the counter and filling a glass with water. He examined a cut on her finger and picked up the blade before he tossed it into the basin. He siphoned the blood off the floor and said goodnight as he went to take Catriona upstairs when she said she felt naseous

"I'm sorry," said Oliver. "I didn't know." 

"Most people don't. It's something you die with not from." Meaghan went over to the drinks cabinet and poured generous shots. Of course, the disease could kill her mother. Meaghan had awful dreams of mother bleeding to death internally, and they'd be none the wiser. She swirled her glass. 

"Mama cut herself again? Damn it." Kirley dashed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He dumped his dishes in the basin and washed them by hand, showing her the large blade. "Death by dishwashing." 

"Want a drink? We're Keepers now." Meaghan clinked glasses with Oliver and poured another and another. Kirley said no thanks; he reminded them they we're enemies on the pitch. Technically, they weren't in the same league, because a reserve team meant Oliver Wood had signed on for practice. 

"Got an owl." Kirley opened the kitchen window and took a large parcel from the three large owls. They took off. 

He heaved it onto the island and handed her the cleaned blade. Meaghan, giddy, rubbed her hands together and tore it open. It was a large box from Pride of Portree. A lot of it was merchandise. Meaghan didn't know if other teams in the league did this, but the Prides got assigned nicknames once they proved their worth. She read though the handwritten owl from Stirling. When she got to the bottom, she found rolled t-shirts. 

"Oh. Yes." Kirley beaming with pride, went over and beat the banister with his hands. "Your kid's getting named. Where the hell are the old folks?" 

Peter came downstairs, telling them off because their mother was sleeping. Spotting the box, his anger evaporated and he raised his eyebrows. "Well?" 

Meaghan unfurled the t-shirt. It looked plain from the front. On the back, there was an intricate animated reptilian scales design in white done by a fine tip. Kirley gave her a thumbs up and laughed when she jumped in Peter's arms waving the purple t-shirt like a white flag. "Oh, my God. I'm Pete's Dragon!" 

"Awesome," said Kirley, checking out one of the long-sleeved shirts. 

"Congratulations," said Peter, kissing her on the cheek and setting her on the floor. The league, mainly the coaches, selected a name for the players. He took the shirt from her and shook it out. "Pete's Dragon, 1994. Bet that was Stirling." 

"I want one." Kirley noted the year wasn't on any other shirt. He found some star shaped biscuits buried in her loot and nicked those. He placed a handful of Galleons on the kitchen table. "Owl Order. Right now. I want one in both styles." 

"He has your mum's," said Peter. 

"Really? What's her design?" Oliver filled them in that Peter's design resembled a dragon taking flight.

"The encyclopedia is boring me, close it, will you?" Peter nudged Meaghan forwards and said Catriona's insignia was a cat catching a laser-beam. Oliver said this wasn't very inventive. "Get a cat. If you knew her, really knew her, you'd get it. That's Cat." 

 

 

Meaghan woke up three days later in her old bedroom. The single bed opposite was empty. Kirley had walked Oliver home the night before. She got up to use the bathroom and noticed her parent's bedroom door was open. She started back towards the bedroom, but her mother lay there without really seeing her, wearing s blank expression. She shrugged and froze when her mother made a sound. 

"Are you all right?" Meaghan stared, horrified, her father came out from underneath the covers. They made out like teenagers. Scarred for life, she walked into the kitchen. Kirley was sitting on the counter sipping a cup of coffee. "I can't unsee." 

"What? You want to start breakfast for the parents?" Kirley muttered about their anniversary. 

"They're in there fucking. The door's open." Meaghan grumbled about an empty nest and slammed breakfast stuff onto the counter. Kirley didn't look too surprised, saying he'd caught them in the act more than once. Meaghan gagged. Miranda came inside and asked what she'd missed, tying her auburn locks back. "You don't want to know. Did they forget we were here? The Cup's today. When did you get here?" 

"Three minutes ago." Miranda hugged her and Kirley as Wonky grabbed her bags. Peter and Catriona came in a little later, fully dressed. Peter, checked his watch and realized he was late. They wolfed down breakfast, hurried to get ready, and left. When they Apparated, the campground buzzed with activity. "Awesome." 

Peter told Kirley to set up the tent with his mother and started to turn on his heel to Disapparate when Ludo Bagman strode towards him. Catriona waved him over, beaming, and pitched the tent in no time. Mr. Bagman looked heavier than when Meaghan had last seen him at the Ministry. Bagman wore his old Wimbourne Wasps robes, and he rubbed his hands together, looking like he was having the time of his life. 

"Peter, my man, Pete. There you are! Lovely as ever, Cat." Mr. Bagman kissed Catriona on the cheek. He nodded at the twins, unable to tell them apart, and shook hands with Kirley. He asked about the bid for the Yule Ball gig at Hogwarts. Kirley said it was smooth sailing. When Peter shared the news about Meaghan signing with the Prides, Bagman shook hands with Miranda. "Well done." 

"Thanks," said Meaghan. She'd signed no contract. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miranda. Although if you really wanted fun, the Wimbourne Wasps is where it's at, eh?" Mr. Bagman winked at her, and Meaghan didn't bother correcting the name slip. She and Miranda pretty much responded to whatever because there was no point telling people they were wrong. Mr. Bagman jiggled his robes and nudged Catriona. "Fancy placing a wager before I steal your husband away?" 

"No, thank you, Ludo." Catriona clapped him genially on the shoulder. 

"Angry about Scotland not getting in? I told Barty, I said, 'Barty, Catriona's going to lose it if Gerard McPherson's in the World Cup'. Luxembourg? What the hell happened there?" Ludo nudged her playfully when Catriona said she'd seen that defeat coming way down the road. He hugged her and stole Peter away, promising her she could have him back later. 

"He's chatty," Kirley frowned at Ludo and his father ad they Disapparated. 

"Ludo? Yeah. He's fun." Catriona asked the girls to fetch water and went inside their magically magnified tent. She said she wanted to lie down. 

"Feeling all right, Mama? You're not that old yet." Kirley winked at her. "Grams can't sleep through the World Cup because it ain't right." 

Catriona wiped her face with a handkerchief and fanned herself with it. "I'm fine. Hot flash." 

 

Not wanting to hear about womanly stuff, Kirley went with his sisters. With their lives speeding off in three different directions, they rarely got to see each other or send an owl with news. As kids, Meaghan remembered them arguing over the stupidest stuff; especially since she shared a bedroom and practically everything with Miranda, things had gotten a little tight. Personal space didn't exist. (They had shared a womb together.). Nowadays, of course, Meaghan and Miranda were each other's left and right, as Kirley put it. 

After the match, they celebrated with everyone else. Peter played a drinking game with Kirley and Miranda, and they died with laughter when they drank him under the table in no time. Meaghan found a hip flask in their dad's clothes snd sniffed it. He'd made it to the tent, but only just, and had passed out by the entrance. 

"What is that, Irish?" 

Meaghan handed it over to Kirley, the true Irishman who held his drink. He'd had four or five rounds and made fun of Meaghan for no partaking. Side-Along Apparition with three people on three different trips would be about as fun as a poke in the eye with a wand! Kirley came from notable Irish stock on his biological daddy's side. 

"Whiskey, agèd Firewhisky, maybe. Well, Dad had a good time." Kirley capped the hip flask, placed it in his robes, and bent to heave Peter to his feet. Something exploded in the the distance. "Like a brick wall. Help me." 

A tent in the distance got set on fire and there was shouting and screaming. Meaghan spotted a redheaded girl running with two boys, maybe her brothers. Catriona came bustling out of the tent wearing a wrinkled dress and had bedhead. Meaghan zipped the dress as they all held their wands aloft. Peter, leaning on Kirley, threw up at his wife's feet. 

"A fine day for Ludo Bagman's man," said Catriona, slipping off her shoes and socks and setting them beside the tent. 

She went back inside and came out with a medical bag and wearing heels. She handed Peter a Sobering Solution and opened it when he complained of a child lock. Meaghan thought this would be funny under any other circumstances, but Peter was a boy, not the assistant to the department head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Peter drank it, saying it tasted like licorice, and pulled himself together as they got swept up in the queue of panicked people. 

Both Kirley and Peter stepped away to take a piss, and Miranda complained that she hadn't been born a boy. She snuck off into a tent and asked them to wait. 

"Drunk. The lot of you." Catriona marched ahead and wrapped a small child's arm without skipping a beat. She was off today, but she went into medi-wizard mode, helping whoever she could. They lost Miranda. Cursing under her breath, Catriona pointed at the illuminated skull in the sky. "Go find your sister. Where the hell is Peter?" 

"But Mama..."

"Meaghan, now!" Catriona helped an old man in a flowery nightgown out of the way. Meaghan, holding her lit wand aloft, heard her mother compliment the fellow she called old Archie. She lost her. 

Meaghan retraced her steps and went back to where they'd fetched water earlier that day. She spotted Oliver Wood near his campsite; he said he came to grab sheets for bandages or something because he wasn't too good at healing or mending. His parents were somewhere in the woods, and stood there chatting with Miranda; she'd indulged in gigglewater, and although its effects were wearing off, she laughed a lot. 

"You have two people who know basic healing, and that's not Meaghan. Blonde and auburn. People have been messing us up since we were bairns. No idea why." Meaghan clapped a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Meaghan McCormack. Pleased to meet you. Is that your father's potion kit?" 

"What? Oh, oh yeah." Oliver apologized profusely to both sisters and surrendered the kit. He looked from one sister to the other, visibly caught between a rock and a hard place. Meaghan helped herself to essence of dittany and medicinal herbs, not entirely sure she grabbed the right stuff. They left. "You're fraternal?" 

"Yep." Meaghan wished she'd grabbed some Sobering Solution from her mum, but Miranda would have to suffer through the hangover. Meaghan plucked her Pride of Portree t-shirt and grabbed Miranda when she chatted up teenager in blue robes in slow, slurred French. "Hey, Mire, you've got a French boyfriend already, remember?" 

"He's ...he's asking for his headmistress. My boyfriend is called Jean Philipe. He plays professional football," said Miranda, turning to Oliver. "He's gorgeous." 

"Right. What's football?" Oliver took Meaghan's hand and wore his confused expression again. They walked a little ahead of Miranda. 

"It's a Muggle sport where they kick around a non-magical Quaffle," said Meaghan, not wanting to go into the details. When Oliver asked why in the hell someone would waste their time doing that, Meaghan admitted her mother used to play striker on a team as a girl. She completely lost Oliver again. "The lead scorer. Like a strong Chaser." 

Oliver whined, not seeing the point. "Yeah, but why?" 

"Because her father played defender and sometimes striker for Manchester United. Manchester United? Ugh. Never mind." Meaghan dropped the subject and moved on. The mere mention of Mr. Oliver Neilson turned heads in Muggle London, and they still went mad for him in Manchester, but it was mud here.

"Football," said Oliver slowly like he tried to master the pronunciation of a foreign word. He knew nothing of the concept. The crowd and the panic died down. Oliver's parents showed up and exchanged introductions with the girls. 

Meaghan had to find her parents. There were small fires here and there. In their jubilation as they traipsed through the camp, Death Eaters had set tents on fire, including theirs. Meaghan told Miranda to find their father; Kirley had returned with cut arms and said he'd returned kids to their parents. Right before Miranda left, Peter Apparated by her side. 

"Where's your mother? Cat? Catriona!" Peter explained he'd pulled their mother by Side-Along Apparition, but the crowd had jostled them after a wave if panic, and she'd let go. Ashen-faced and beside himself with worry, he said he just knew she got Splinched. "Where's Catriona?" 

"Dad, I ... I don't know," said Meaghan. "She's fine." 

"No, no. She doubled over in pain. She never leans on me like that. We have to find her. It's ... she can't heal herself." 

There was a faint pop and Oliver Wood Apparated a few feet away from them. Covered in blood, he carried a passed out Catriona in his arms and clutched a severed leg. Peter tore after them at breakneck speed and set her on the ground. Oliver had the medicinal bag over his shoulder and said she complained of abdominal pains before losing consciousness. Peter took her in his arms, careful with the leg, and said he was headed to St. Mungo's. He thanked Oliver and Disapparated. 

"They trampled her. They were a stampede," said Oliver, pleading with them. "I saw it. She went one way, and they came by the other way, and they ...she went down when she fell." 

"It's okay." It was far from all right, but she didn't blame Oliver. She thrust the medicinal bag at Kirley, telling him to watch over Miranda. Maybe there was some Sobering Solution in their mother's stores, but this was quite sobering enough, and took Oliver's hand. They headed to London after an hour. 

 

They waited in the queue. There was a long line, probably some of them from the Quidditch World Cup, and the Welcome Witch directed them towards maternity. Thinking she'd heard incorrectly, Meaghan grew impatient with the Welcome Witch. 

"Check again." Her mother was forty-nine! There was no way she was pregnant. Meaghan gave her mother's name and held up a finger at the bloke with the whistling ears, asking for a damn moment. The Welcome Witch, annoyed, checked the list and gave her the same information. 

"Let's just go there," said Oliver, pointing out there was no maternity ward listed on the St. Mungo's directory. 

The Welcome Witch scowled at him. He tried to console Meaghan by reliving the match as they climbed the stairs, but it didn't work. They passed a nursery, and Meaghan found the idea of a new baby brother or sister laughable. Her parents weren't ancient, but they'd be strapped with a child into their seventies. 

Meaghan opened the door to an operating station snd found het mother lying on a table. Her leg was reattached, but she was clearly out of it as she breathed in some gas from a big nose-shaped instrument. The Healer grumbled about this being a sterile, closed environment and told her to get out. Oliver leaned against the wall in the corridor. Peter, who stood by Catriona's head, kissed her. And they said words Meaghan didn't catch before Peter stepped away. 

Peter went outside. He sported some gown over his clothes. "You shouldn't be here." 

"That's my mother," said Meaghan savagely. 

"She's my wife. Meaghan." Peter stood by Oliver and thanked him. Oliver said it was nothing. Peter lowered his voice and explained to Meaghan about an ectopic pregnancy; the baby had formed in the wrong place. Meaghan gaped at him. She asked him, completely straight-faced, if they were trying for another child. Peter actually laughed. "Heavens, no." 

Meaghan fished for answers. "But then ... why didn't she say something?" 

"She thought it was menopause. Mum's been saying that forever." Peter shrugged, tired. It was weird hearing her dad talk about "the change", and she was probably as glad as him when Peter didn't elaborate. He spoke briefly about her coming off the birth control potion because it affected the megakaryocyte count, which was something having to do with platelets. But it all went over his head. "We kept on as normal ... the Healer in there said we have a healthy love life." 

"Dad. No." Meaghan covered her ears.

"Whatever. It's a fact of life. Why not enjoy it?" Peter raised his eyebrows when she shook her head. He'd always been plain spoken about everything. Oliver said nothing. Peter patted Meaghan's cheek. "I don't want you lot fretting over this. Mum's fine. This was going to happen." 

Meaghan frowned at him. "What went wrong?" 

"Nothing went wrong," said Peter bracingly. He sounded angry with himself. "We have three amazing children, so who are we to complain? These things ... they happen. I sent an owl to your grandfather, and he says he's proud of you. Manchester or not." 

"Dad," she said, smiling in spite of herself. This was high praise coming from her grandfather. "There are no women on Manchester." 

"Manchester City Women," said Peter, shaking his head and muttering about unless football facts and stats. "Why do I know this? Why? Curse you, Oliver!"

Because of the Muggle Repelling Charms that surrounded Quidditch stadiums, her grandfather had never seen Catriona nor would he ever see Meaghan play in a proper match. If they broke the rule for one Muggle and went through all the hassle and the headache, they would be forced to bend the rules for them all. Not to mention the Statute of Secrecy or the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee (ICWQC), but the McCormack family at least entertained the idea, for none of them had the heart to gave Grandad a downright no. 

"What?" Oliver Wood looked affronted. 

"Not you. My grandad." Meaghan shook her head and shoved her father forward when the Healer stuck his head out. Peter went back into the operating room, and the Healer closed the door. Meaghan, exhausted, asked Oliver if he wanted to head towards the tea shop. He said sure and purchased iced coffees. 

"I like you." He handed her a pastry bag and a large coffee.

"I think my dad likes you, too, and I know my mum does," said Meaghan, frowning when he rolled his eyes. She played what he said through her mind and let that sink in as she sipped coffee. "If auburn's your thing, I can use a Color Changing Charm and alter my my ears." 

"You're sister's a princess, a girly girl," said Wood, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. He kissed her softly. "No offense. And I bet she's loads of fun, but you, you're different. You're hardcore." 

Meaghan blushed. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." 

"I'll work on the comeback later." 

Wood gestured towards the St. Mungo's canteen so they could have a proper place to sit and chat. They'd been at different places in the stands and analyzed the match play by play. Wood opened his program and nodded when she corrected him on an error. He doodled on a napkin, tapped to with his wand, and explained the arrows and squiggly lines. "If Troy stayed here, Moran could've done this. Two minutes? That's, like, a handful of points. And I know they won, I know, and the technical foul with the veelas and the referee?"

"My dad lost it," said Meaghan. "Kirley spat beer in Miranda's face." 

"You've always been a Portree girl?" Wood conjured flowers and said they were for her mother. Meaghan thanked him. When Meaghan half-shrugged, he said, "Yes. Well, that's to be expected." 

“I’m my father’s daughter here, but the Magpies own everyone, not matter what we do. Them’s the brakes.” Meaghan got up and ordered a thick milkshake from one of the house-elves serving at the serving station. Oliver gawked at her. “You don’t know me. Don’t play, Wood.” 

“You should never date with someone on your own Quidditch team,” said Oliver, handing her the coffee to finish first. “It causes problems. Your parents are an exception to the rule, I guess, but I wouldn't do it. If a certain someone wanted to go places and spend time with me, I’d be grateful. Do you know anyone?”

“Miranda’s taken.” Meaghan went back to grab a spoon, a straw, and a second milkshake. Oliver shook his head, saying he didn't want it. They sat through an awkward silence. “Go on. Ask me out.” 

“Er.” Oliver got rendered temporary speechless. “Give me a moment. As long as I’m not officially in the league, I don’t see the problem with us … dating. You obviously aren't seeing this as the first date. You're blind. To each his own.” 

“Her own.” Meaghan sat back down and crossed her legs, hoping he wouldn't spill the beans about her binge drinking milkshakes to anyone in the league. “And Oliver, a hospital isn't really a date. I brought you here.” 

“You’re welcome for breakfast.” Oliver muttered that he should’ve introduced her to the parents. He shut up again. He reached into his robes and slammed four tickets onto the table, and Meaghan, thinking it was cute he took his time with this, said nothing when he swore left, rights and centre, this stood out as no coincidence. “I checked the practice timetable … I may or may not have stolen, er, permanently borrowed a copy from Mr. Dempsey. You’re off next Saturday and Sunday. These are just scrimmages …” 

“… parents’ surprise anniversary party,” she said, interrupting him with a smile. 

“I’m aware of that. And thanks for cutting me off because I’m asking a woman out here! Thanks for the invite to the anniversary thing.” Oliver held up two fingers, telling her this was the second date. Meaghan nodded. He tapped the tickets. “Double header: Magpies versus Wasps, followed by food somewhere, followed by Bats versus Puddlemere United. We can hang out Friday after your meeting with QuickSilver if you want …” 

“If I want…” Meaghan slurped the rest of the first milkshake and started on the second one. “You stole from Stirling. He’d pummel you if he knew.” 

“I borrowed from QuickSilver.” Oliver winked as he pointed out the keyword. “Knew what? There’s nothing to know. By the way, your reserve Keeper stinks. That’s neither here nor there. So, see you next weekend.” 

He got up and kissed her on the forehead before he left the canteen. Meaghan allowed herself a smile as she threw the empty cup in the nearby bin. 

 

Oliver Wood stayed on the reserves for three years, which was about average, and this meant that he was neither awful nor amazing. He might have been an extraordinary Captain whilst at Hogwarts, but it was a sheltered world in the castle. It was a different world in the professional leagues. Meaghan used the to hate her father when he ordered her no to join the Quidditch team at school, but she owned Peter a huge thank you she felt she could never repay him. Peter was right; Peter always ended up being right, though Meaghan kept forgetting this. To be honest, though she was only a year older than Oliver, she didn't remember he at school. 

They had an interesting arrangement. She lived in a flat in Portree, and he lived in England. She had a toothbrush at his place, but that’s totally where she drew the line. This seemed to amuse him. They were a couple, but they weren't official because Meaghan did not want to become fodder in the gossip column of some rag. 

“This is so much more complicated than the reserve contract.” Oliver laid back on the leather couch and put the quill between his teeth. Meaghan plopped down and rested her head on his chest. The contract, a proposal waiting for a counter offer, if needed, had markings and notes all over it. “The quasi clause? What’s that?” 

“Yeah, don't do that. This means if you sign everything in the original holds true. None of your suggestions matter.” Meaghan picked up the chubby miniature Australian Shepard puppy. “What are we calling her?” “Sophie. Why is she on the furniture? Back to the contract. Time crunch.” Oliver took the puppy and sat up. Meaghan conjured a copy of the contract she’d signed with the Prides a few years ago. It gave her forty million Galleons in allotments over six years. Oliver set the quill on the table and chuckled as he read through it. “Highway robbery. How much this was drafted by Peter and QuickSilver?” 

Meaghan was completely unashamed. “All of it.” 

“McCormack. That’s what I’m talking about.” Oliver gave her a high-five. Meaghan didn't mean to lean on her father and coach to do her dirty work, but they knew a lot more about the behind the scenes stuff than she did. “I like the part about what happens after the regular season. May I steal that?” “Yes.” She threw in a caveat. “You are not allowed to share this with others. They did nothing illegal here, but this is the mother of all contracts, and not everyone. It’s mine.” 

Oliver couldn't copy it. Meaghan had the right friends in the right places, and she often used this to get advantage. Oliver didn't have the power to jump straight into the national league, but she did. Meaghan could play for both Scotland and Pride of Portree. Her mother had fought for that open window. Four hours later, Oliver sealed the draft. If accepted by the legal busybodies at Puddlemere United, he’d be in business, and he sign tomorrow. 

“You’ve replaced Williamson.” Meaghan stood in the kitchen and prepped a vegetable tray and some roasted lamb. Her flat was open concept, so she saw him crashed out on the couch with the puppy. She asked if he was sleeping. 

“No. Resting my eyes.” He gave her thumbs-up when she suggested they pause the occasional sleepovers until after the Puddlemere and Portree tournament. 

“You get mean.” She guided the food to the table with her wand as the table set itself. Oliver asked if they could eat in the sitting room. “Nope. My place, my rules. Can you feed Sophie, please?” 

“Yeah. Come on, Sophie.” Oliver carted the dog around like a baby. Meaghan snorted, wondering how this would last. Loch’s puppy had it made. Oliver dished out food and changed the water before he paced the kitchen and ate standing up. Oliver waved his fork in the air and talked both of them through this. “Worst case scenario. I say no. Or someone says no. Negotiations came to a screeching halt. What’s the next step?” 

“Oliver gets a proper job.” Meaghan laughed at him. 

“I’ve got a job. Not cute. Not funny.” Oliver mimed putting a pin somewhere when she mentioned she couldn’t really play Quidditch forever. The body was a machine, and no matter how he conditioned, there had to be a Plan B somewhere down the road. “Seriously, Meaghan.” 

“You can negotiate with another team,” said Meaghan. When he grumbled about going back on reserves, she shook her head. “Not necessarily. The Magpies want you. You got the monster gift basket. They’re wooing you like a bitch.” 

“Ha, yeah.” Oliver started eating and tipped a teeny bit into the dog bowl. Of course, if he switched to another team, he wouldn't be invited back to Puddlemere. And he’d probably earn himself some enemies, and Puddlemere United was his favorite team. He cleared up the dishes and rested his hands on her shoulders. He conjured an ice cream and a red jewelry box. “So, before I call you horrible names during this tournament, I have a question. Remember I like you … a lot.” “Before I’m called bitch?” 

“Yeah. Basically. Hope you don’t die … kind of. Seriously maimed is all right.” 

“Oliver. Back up.” Meaghan opened the jewelry box. “It’s the right one. You took my sister with you to pick this out?”

“Obviously. I mean, I can’t have one twisted sister without the other, can I? Jean Philipe says you’re a set.” 

“The Frenchman says what?” 

Oliver held up a hand, putting himself on pause and took a moment to phrase this carefully as the dishes started washing themselves in the background. He spun the chair around one-handed and lifted her into his arms. Meaghan squealed. 

“A lot. He talks a lot. Anyway. Shut up, McCormack, you’re distracting me again. Stop. I’m taking a shot here.” 

Oliver let the puppy outside after he put Meaghan on the floor and took his time with Sophie. Meaghan stood there. He came back five minutes later and paced the kitchen. He’d captained the reserve team for the past month, and Meaghan guessed he used to do this in his Gryffindor heyday. He grabbed a dry erase board, a Muggle tool Meaghan’s grandfather had given him, and scribbled with the permanent marker before he revealed the message. 

_Marry me_. 

“Really?” She giggled and sat on the table. 

Oliver crossed it out, found the eraser. looked as though he seriously doubted whether this would work or not, and wiped the board clean. He dropped the marker and capped it when she’d said it would dry out. Oliver found his wand and tapped the whiteboard with it. Words appeared. 

_Not a romantic. You are evil. Evil, cunning witch. Don't get me wrong. I like it_. 

Meaghan nodded. “Not a spelling error?” 

Oliver paused, rechecked his work and nodded. He thought for a minute and tapped the board with his wand again, and drafted a third line. 

_I’m not your other half; I can be your best friend. You’re mine. Say yes_. 

“Yes.” Meaghan proved that she could read, and Oliver, giving up, chucked the whiteboard across the kitchen, scaring Sophie. He apologized. Meaghan let him the puppy first, understanding the pecking order when it came to the Puddlemere United Keeper. Oliver went over to her, smiling when she spread her legs. 

“You’re toying with me.” Oliver placed the ring on her finger and placed his hands on her hips. 

“Yeah.” Meaghan shouted when he lifted her and spun her around in circles. She asked about the twisted sister thing, and Oliver confessed Kirley called Miranda and Meaghan this in private. He would’ve gone with weird sisters, but it appeared this compliment or distinction was already taken. “I love you. Put me down.” 

“I love you.” Ignoring her request, at least for the moment, he carried her outside. Meaghan didn’t know whether he’d meant to let Sophie out or not, but the puppy liked her small garden. He tossed her a box with sports apparel after setting her on the steps leading out to the back garden. “I don’t understand this because you … you lot are strange, but open that.” 

“A present?” Meaghan tore off the envelope, opened it, and read a letter written on stationary written in her grandfather’s hand. Judging by his confident stance, she guessed Oliver had already read this. Had he resealed it? “You asked my grandfather for my hand?” 

Oliver shrugged. He mentioned he was no Peter McCormack, so don’t expect any romantic gestures. This is it for the moment. Meaghan opened the rectangular box and showed him the Manchester United Adidas jersey with the name Wood on the back. There were two. 

“He’s strange, too.” Oliver shrugged, not getting it. 

“This, from Oliver Neilson, means everything. Absolutely everything.” Meaghan folded the jerseys and placed them back in the box. Her father had to wait until Meaghan and Miranda got into Hogwarts to receive his jersey. Jean Philipe, a foreign football player, would probably not get one for ages. “This is like the Golden Snitch seal of approval. You’re a grandson, and we haven't even tied the knot yet. If and when we have a son, you realize we have to call him Oliver?” 

Oliver froze, not yet ready to breach the subject of kids. They’d had this talk, of course, because things had gotten serious, but that was way down the road. Meaghan had a few years left in her contract before she wanted to even think about talk about crossing that bridge. He’d jokingly said he’d wanted seven kids to craft his own Quidditch team, and Meaghan had told him to get out. 

“Let’s see if we can keep Sophie alive first.” Oliver whistled, and Sophie rolled over in the dirt. Training would come with time. Meaghan agreed. Oliver bathed the dog and locked it inside the flat, although Meaghan said he’d managed to get a workout and got a bath in his clothes. She was small, but she was fast. “I think your dad gave her to us as a test.”

“She’s my dog,” said Meaghan. 

“She stays at your place, but Sophie’s our dog. Who does she run to when we come home? Me.” Oliver pumped his fist in the air when Meaghan told him Peter had agreed to be his personal trainer. Oliver wouldn't have ever come out and plainly asked for this because he didn't want to appear like he was desperate. He was a smart Quidditch player. “What?” 

“You’re learning to ask for help when you need it.” 

Meaghan loved watching the real Oliver Wood. The reserve team had humbled him, and he’d realized he wasn't God. Meaghan patted the steps and he stripped off his soaked shirt and pulled the Manchester United jersey. He used a drying spell for his trousers. And he left the soaked trainers on the back steps. 

“What did you think of the other Oliver?” 

“He doesn’t like he’s seventy-five.” Oliver tapped his wand absentmindedly on the steps, sending sparks up in the air. Her grandfather was a fit man for his age because he tended and trained young men. “The respect he commands, especially since he’s not a coach, or a manager, or a captain … it’s one hell of a sight. The clapping thing. What’s that about?” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Meaghan started clapping on the steps for accompaniment and started singing the football chant for Manchester United. 

Oliver rolled his eyes. She took him inside, signing the chant louder until he told her to shut up. Meaghan took a photograph off her mantlepiece. It was of a kneeling young football player, her father maybe in his young twenties, in full uniform with a small Catriona by his side, holding the football. 

“Ah.” Oliver smiled at the stationary photograph. “Your mother was cute.” 

“Grandad used to tell Mum he couldn’t wait till she grew into a proper man.” Meaghan smacked Oliver playfully in the head when he weighed the framed photograph in his hand before he replaced it back on the fireplace. She shrugged it off, not really caring. “She used to laugh about it, too. When Kirley was born, she showed up on his doorstep and said, ‘Here, I’ve completed my task.’ Grandad laughed so hard he cried. He's going to die serving Manchester on the pitch." 

“I like your family.” 

"I hope so. They'll soon be your family, Oliver." 

Meaghan kept the windows open, waiting for Oliver’s Welcome to Puddlemere United kit. He said nothing and held his tongue, though he was no exception. All Quidditch players waited for this nod of approval. He shook his head when she said Oliver had earned a nickname, insisting this was a Pride of Portree tradition. 

He decided to entertain her. “Fine. What is it?” 

“Dad chose it, and he says you’re the driving force behind the team. He’s watched you at practices.” 

“He’s spied on us?” Oliver immediately went from calm to furious in a blink of an eye. He balled his fists and threatened to send an owl. 

“Whoa. First off, he’s retired? And he’s the Assistant Director for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Good luck surviving angering him. And he's my father.” Meaghan held his face in her hand and lowered her voice. “Your future father-in-law? Your trusted friend and trainer? Yeah, that’s Peter. It’s Hearth.” 

“Hearth. The hearth is the home,” muttered Oliver. 

“Yeah. Whatever happens on the pitch stays on the pitch. We’re a team.” 

“We’re a team. I promise.” 

He stopped in front of the empty fireplace. Meaghan nodded, slightly surprised he'd gotten there so quickly. She knew this wasn't the first time Puddlemere United would face the Prides in a tournament, and the teams were equally matched as rivals. United fans hated the Prides, and this added fuel to the fire, He gave her a one-armed hug and said it was an honor to stand beside Pete’s Dragon.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is where I was going with "Pete's Dragon" until I rewrote it. I wanted to take a shot at Oliver Wood, and I knew I wanted to pair him with Meaghan. Hopefully, you liked it. Thanks for reading. Any critiques or reviews would be super appreciated.


End file.
